Beyond the quiet streets of Greymire, where fields rolled like the folds of a green blanket wrapping the town, the world was far from still. Powers moved like shifting tides—unseen, yet insistent—guiding fates with invisible hands. Somewhere, in the deeper currents of this hidden world, a name began to ripple against the surface—Ellie Liddell. It rose from a murmur into something that caught the attention of those far beyond her reach.

Her story began to slip beyond the borders of Greymire, carried on the wind like smoke—faint but undeniable. Whispers became rumors, rumors became speculation. The tale of a novice mage, barely recognized in her own guild, having defeated the Stonebeast, an impossible feat even for seasoned adventurers. Those who heard it in passing laughed at its absurdity; others dismissed it as the typical embellishment of tavern stories. But not everyone was quick to brush it aside.

In the bustling capital city, inside a smoke-filled tavern where shadows clung to the walls like old memories, two figures sat cloaked in the dim, flickering light of guttering candles. The tavern was alive with noise—the raucous clatter of tankards on wood, the mingling of hearty laughter, and the hum of countless private conversations.

But here, at this corner table, a space seemed to form around the two figures, a small pocket of quiet amidst the chaos.

“She’s a threat,” muttered one, his voice gravelly, roughened by years of shouting orders in places where death lingered close. He leaned forward, hunched over the table, his gloved hand tracing idle circles around the rim of his half-empty glass. “If even a quarter of what they say is true, we can’t afford to ignore her.”

Across from him sat a woman, her features half-hidden beneath the hood of a dark cloak. Sharp eyes gleamed beneath the folds of her hood, cutting through the gloom with unsettling clarity. She was no stranger to rumors or exaggeration—especially not those spun by desperate adventurers trying to make a name for themselves. She let the man’s words sit for a moment before speaking.

“A novice? A girl?” Her voice carried a mocking edge as she leaned back in her chair, fingers playing with the edge of her cloak. “You really think we’re wasting time discussing a child’s fairy tale?”

“She took down the Stonebeast,” the man pressed, his tone low but insistent, as if saying it any louder would make it less believable. “I’ve seen the reports. The Mage Academy sent an investigator. Her account was… troubling.”

The woman raised a skeptical eyebrow, her smirk growing wider. “Troubling? Or just beyond the poor bastard’s understanding?”

The man’s fingers tightened around the glass, a flicker of frustration crossing his weathered face. The accounts they had gathered were scattered, conflicting—some spoke of near-miraculous feats, others described accidents, moments where Ellie’s power seemed to surge beyond her control. But that unpredictability was what gnawed at him. Wild magic was dangerous—too dangerous to be left unchecked.

“If we don’t make a move,” he said slowly, “someone else will. The guilds are already sniffing around her, and the Mage Academy is keeping tabs. If we don’t act, they will. They think she’s real.”

“And you don’t?” Her mocking tone softened into something more dangerous—curiosity.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, the weight of uncertainty thick in his voice. “But if even half of it is true, she could be a bigger threat than any of us realize. We need to find out. One way or another.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The noise of the tavern faded into a distant hum as their eyes locked across the table. The woman’s smirk had disappeared, replaced by something colder. More calculating.

“Test her?” she asked, her voice soft but sharp, as if the word itself was a blade. “Or eliminate her?”

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The man’s shrug was anything but casual. “Whichever proves necessary.”

A heavy silence fell between them, the kind that lingered in the air, thick with unspoken decisions. After a long pause, the woman stood, the dark folds of her cloak swirling around her as she pulled it tighter. She glanced back at him, her smirk returning, though now it was edged with a darker intent.

“I’ll make the arrangements,” she said smoothly before slipping into the shadows, her figure disappearing into the tavern crowd as if swallowed by the night itself.

The man remained at the table, his glass still in hand, but his mind was elsewhere. His fingers circled the rim of his drink in a slow, methodical motion, the weight of the conversation pressing down on him. He had sent many to their deaths before, but something about this was different. Ellie Liddell—whether she was a girl with untapped potential or a walking disaster—was no ordinary target.

*****

Far from the capital, in a city where the night draped itself over narrow alleys like a shroud, another meeting took place. But there were no flickering candles, no clinking glasses, no laughter. Only shadows, deep and unyielding, broken by the faint slivers of moonlight that barely penetrated the dark, narrow streets.

The figures who gathered here moved like the shadows themselves, their steps soundless, their cloaks blending seamlessly into the surrounding gloom. Their voices were hushed, as if even the wind itself might be listening.

“She’s growing too quickly,” rasped one of them, his voice barely louder than the rustle of leaves in the wind. “Ellie Liddell.”

“The Greymire Adventurer Guild’s new toy?” another scoffed, his voice laced with derision. “A child. A rumor. Why do we care?”

“We care because her name is spreading,” the first figure snapped, his tone sharper now, more urgent. “If we allow her to rise unchecked, the Mage Academy will back her. And once they do…”

The second figure’s silence spoke volumes. They all knew the implications. The Mage Academy’s protection was not just a shield—it was an endorsement, a sign to the world that this person was someone to be reckoned with. It wouldn’t be long before Ellie Liddell became more than just a mage. She would become a symbol. And symbols, once they took root, were far more dangerous than any one individual.

“We must act now,” the first figure continued, his voice growing colder. “Snuff her out before she becomes something more. Quietly. Without a trace.”

A third figure, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. His voice was low, smooth, and lethal. “An elimination, then. To remind them all that no one rises without consequence.”

The silence that followed was thick, charged with unspoken understanding. The figures began to disperse, slipping into the night like specters, leaving no trace of their presence. Agents would be selected—those who excelled in silence and shadows, who could eliminate without fanfare. The mission was simple. Find Ellie Liddell. Test her if necessary. But she would not leave Greymire alive.

*****

Back in Greymire, the town was bathed in the final light of the setting sun, the sky ablaze with hues of gold, red, and deep purple. The air was thick with the scent of earth and the soft murmur of the evening wind as dusk began to fall. The people of Greymire moved about their routines, unaware that forces far beyond their quiet town were now converging upon them.

A lone rider approached from the north, his presence casting a long shadow over the cobblestones. His horse moved at a deliberate pace, its hooves making a slow, rhythmic clop against the stone. The rider’s face was obscured beneath a heavy hood, and his cloak bore no insignia, no mark of allegiance. Yet something about him drew uneasy glances from the townsfolk as he passed, an instinctive recognition that he did not belong here.

He did not stop at the guildhall, though his eyes flickered toward it for the briefest of moments before he continued down the street, vanishing into the deepening shadows.

From the second floor of the guildhall, Hargrave stood by the window, watching the rider’s departure with narrowed eyes. His fingers drummed absently on the wooden windowsill, a rhythm born from habit. Something gnawed at him, a feeling he couldn’t quite place—a tension in the air, a subtle shift, like the distant rumble of thunder before a storm.

Word of Ellie’s exploits had traveled farther than they had ever anticipated. And with that fame came danger, drawn to her like moths to a flame. Hargrave had seen it before—how quickly admiration could twist into envy, how curiosity could become fear.

He turned away from the window, exhaling slowly. Whatever was coming for her, it was already too late to stop it. Ellie would need to be ready for what lay ahead.

Because the storm, once it arrived, would show no mercy.